Scheming
by Alesford
Summary: Friends help friends win Prom Queen, even if it requires a little scheming. Mild spoilers for 2x18  "Born this Way" . Subtle Faberry and Brittana. One-shot.


**A/N: Because that scene with "Lucy Fabray" completely baffled me, I had to come up with some way to explain it in my head with a little Faberry and Brittana thrown in, and this is it. Spoilers, of course, for "Born this Way".**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Glee".**

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><p><strong>Scheming<strong>

When you get home from glee that afternoon, you aren't surprised to see Santana lounging on your bed, chewing a wad of bubblegum as she flips through the latest edition of Cosmopolitan. She doesn't look up when you drop your bag in the chair near your desk or when you flop down on the bed beside her.

You may not have been friends with her or Brittany since kindergarten but you've been best friends since cheerleading camp the summer before ninth grade. It had been a silent pact between the three of you, and no words were ever spoken about it. You just knew.

Your friendship with Santana has had its ups and downs, but you know it's the mark of a true friendship. Nothing can ever really come between the two of you, and it's something for which you're especially grateful.

"You know, you could give the midget a run for her money with that performance you gave Zizes," Santana says idly as she turns another page. You're pretty sure she isn't actually reading any of it or even looking at the pictures or the ads; it's a prop, something to use in the situation, just like that photography of Lucy Fabray.

You don't respond to that and instead shift to find a more comfortable position on the bed, since Santana is practically sprawled across most of it.

"Why are you still taking Dave to prom after all of this?" you finally ask.

"We need Kurt for Nationals, and blackmailing Dave was a way to get him back. If we win Nationals, maybe Brittany can get out of this hick town and do something with her life," she says casually as another page turns.

"What about you?" you ask tentatively.

The rise and fall of Santana's shoulders is more than just a shrug; it's a sign of resignation, but you don't say anything. You recognize it because you once saw your shoulders set in a mirroring fashion. When you thought all you might amount to is a trophy wife stuck in Ohio with your high school sweetheart. And when you realized that you were better than that, that you could possibly want more than that, you went to Santana for help.

Santana is right when she says she is straight-up bitch. She's being modest, you think; she's the best, most conniving manipulator you know. She outdoes you, more often than not, as demonstrated by the mono fiasco of February. It was her idea to Photoshop an old photograph of you, to make you hideous. It was her idea to bribe the secretary at Belleville Middle School to plant false records of one _Lucy Q. Fabray_. It was her idea to slip the knowledge of the false information to Lauren Zizes.

All of it was Santana's idea. She says it's because she doesn't want Lauren and Puck to win, but you know it's indirectly because of her (unrequited) love for Brittany. She tells you that winning Prom Queen will give you a leg up over other college applicants, that it'll show your high school success and popularity, and that maybe it'll help get your ass out of Lima (her word choice, not yours).

"One of us deserves to be happy," she finally tells you. She turns her attention away from the magazine for the first time since you walked in the room, and you can see her breaking beneath her firecracker facade.

"Santana-" you start, but she shakes her head at you.

"You'll win Prom Queen. You'll apologize to Berry. You'll get accepted to Columbia. You'll go to New York to chase that psychopathic granny-toddler, and the two of you will live happily ever after in love."

You just bite your lip and nod because you can't change Santana's mind any more than somebody might have been able to change yours a couple months ago. She needs to realize her own self-worth before she'll take the step to fight her way out of this town. Instead, you reach out and take her hand, and even though she looks like she's about to punch you, you don't let go. Her face flickers with softness so quickly that anybody else would think it hadn't happened, but Santana is your best friend so you know it when you see it.

You settle for a whispered "Thanks" and pull your hand away.

Her eyes turn back to the magazine in front of her. "Yeah, well, don't screw it up," she mutters under her breath.

You smile softly at this, and you close your eyes and drift into daydreams of towering skyscrapers and subway trains and a certain singer who has always caught your eye.


End file.
